Hello and Goodbye Sarah Jane Smith
by AdrianaGreen
Summary: This is my, admittedly late, tribute to Sarah Jane Smith that came to me after seeing her and K-9 in the 50th anniversary trailer. After The Doctor learns that Sarah Jane is dead, he goes to say goodbye to a version of her from before they met. Sarah Jane is eight in this story and crying about not being a good writer. One-shot.


AN: So, I literally only started watching Doctor Who less than six months ago, but I mainlined it. I've watched all of the New Who and a good amount of Classic Who plus all of the Sarah Jane Adventures and started Torchwood. I fell in love with Sarah Jane Smith in School Reunion and so, of course, I goggled her and learned that Liz Sladen was dead. She died before I even met her and so I never got to do a tribute to her and her lovely character. I thought I had dealt with my emotions after I cried at the end of The Sarah Jane Adventures, but then I watched the trailer for the 50th with the still of her and K-9 and realized that Liz wouldn't be in the 50th. So then I thought of all of the ways they could somehow pay her tribute. The Doctor will have to be told that she died at some point like he was told about the Brigadier, but I didn't know how they would be able to give Sarah Jane a proper send off without Liz. But, then I remembered The Doctor has a time machine; he could go see her when she was just a kid. I decided that he should go meet little Sarah Jane after he found out she died and this is the result.

This is my, admittedly late, tribute to Elizabeth Sladen and the immortal character she created before I was even born.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Hello and Goodbye Sarah Jane Smith

Sarah Jane Smith sat on the swing in the park by her aunt's house with a crumpled up piece of paper in one hand. Her little eight year old feet scuffed the ground as she snuffled quietly, her eyes filled with tears.

"Well, hello there!" a man's voice caused her to jump. She turned to find a funny looking man had plopped down in the swing next to her holding a brown stuffed owl. His hair was decidedly not in style and he was wearing a bright blue bowtie and suspenders. Her eyebrows drew together.

"Hi," she went back to dragging her feet across the dirt.

"What's your name?" he asked. She eyed him speculatively.

"My aunt says not to talk to strangers," she informed him gravely.

He cocked a smile at her, "Do I look strange." She looked him up and down causing his nose to crinkle in amusement, "Alright, well, I'll give you that one," he conceded, "How about I guess your name?"

"Okay," she replied timidly.

"Hmmm," he considered it, "How about Wendy?" She shook her head, "Lucy?" Another head shake. "Raxamiltonashila?"

"That's not a name," she told him.

"How do you know?" he asked his lips pursed defensively, but then he smiled. "Oh, all right. Let's see brown hair, intelligent eyes, and looking at me as though I'd never had any marbles to begin with; I say you look like a… Sarah Jane Smith." She blinked up at him in surprise. "Was I right?" She nodded mutely. "Good, now that that question is out of the way, we can move on to a more important one: why are you crying?"

She sniffled again and kicked the dirt, "I want to be a writer."

"That doesn't explain why you're crying," he pointed out.

"I'm not any good at it," she said.

"Now how in the Universe did you get an idea like that in your head?"

She looked at the paper in her hand and handed it to him without saying a word. He uncrumpled it and, as he read it, a dark expression crossed his face so briefly that Sarah Jane almost though she imagined it. A few milliseconds later, a bright smile crossed his face.

"Well that's rubbish," he enthused ripping apart the note, "Who wrote you that?"

"My teacher," she sniffed.

"Well what type of teacher do you have? A rubbish teacher I'd say."

"I want to be a journalist but Mr. Pimberly says that girls shouldn't be writers."

"Oh, don't listen to Mr. Pimberly. Your aunt's a writer and she's a girl isn't she?"

She nodded. "Now, I know for certain that you'll make a great journalist. I'd even go as far as to say you could be the number one journalist in all of Britain."

"How would you know?" she inquired with her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, Sarah Jane Smith I can see that you're a brilliant, kind, curious girl who would make for the perfect journalist and trust me, I'm a good judge of character."

"Really," she tilted her head at him.

"Really," he winked at her, "and oh the stories you'll have, the places you'll see, the people you'll help. Sarah Jane Smith: investigative journalist, but you'll be so much more than that. You'll be wonderful. Don't listen to Mr. Pimberly. If anyone tells you that you can't do something, you have to prove them wrong." He smiled again, but there was a sadness to his eyes. "Here," he said clearing his throat as he held out the stuffed owl in his hand. "Found this on the street; it looked like it needed a good home."

She cautiously took the owl and her eyes brightened a little as a smile tugged at her lips. "It's cute," she told him.

"I thought you might like him," he grinned and clapped his hands, "Now, I'm sure your Aunt Lavinia is wondering where you are, so…"

She nodded and got up from the swing, but then looked back at him. "How do you know my Aunt's name is Lavinia?" Sarah Jane's eyes narrowed on him curiously, reminding him very much of her older self. "How do you know she's a writer?"

"Oh Sarah Jane, always with the questions," he mused. She folded her arms across her chest and glared him down. "Would it help if I said you'll get all the answers some day?"

"No," she replied stubbornly and he gave a chuckle getting up from the swing and crouching so he was eye level with the eight year old.

"Sarah Jane," he said with sadness that even the eight year old could perceive, "you have your whole life to get your questions answered, but for now it's time for you to go home before your aunt keels over with worry." She gave him a doubtful look but then nodded. She started to walk toward her aunt's house, but turned to look at him after a few steps.

"Goodbye," she called and turned away from him again. She faded out of sight.

The man collapsed back in the swing with tears in his eyes, "Goodbye," he whispered, "My Sarah Jane Smith."

Please review if you liked/disliked anything.


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